Some Poems For Your Pain
by HouseRox
Summary: House writes some poems for his pain, Wilson finds those poems. No slash, House/Wilson friendship, one-shot.


This story is dedicated to LoViNgXtWiLiGhTxoxo. Enjoy, everybody! Read and review!

------~~~*

"Can I have some Vicodin?" House said, popping out of no where behind Wilson, making him jump.

"You asked me yesterday already, remember?" Wilson turned to House. "You don't need another one."

"Well, you see, I kinda need a refill..." House put the empty container in Wilson's face. Wilson took it in his hand and stared at it in disbelief. He only got it yesterday morning and now at only two o'clock the next day he's asking for more. How can he possibly consume more of that stuff?

"House, your taking way more pills than necessary which is not good for you," Wilson started, and he heard House mutter under his breath, "Here we go again."

"I think you have a problem, with having already downed the whole bottle which should have lasted, knowing you, at least a week. So I'm not subscribing another one for you," said Wilson as he turned and left.

------~*~-------

An hour later, House was in his office feeling the pain in his leg increasingly more so. He probably could have convinced Wilson to get him a refill if he'd tried harder, but he didn't feel the energy and his leg had started to really hurt from standing so long. He had to deal with this every day, some times worse than others. He envied those who didn't feel or even understand pain.

House wondered what he would do until he could get more Vicodin. An idea accoured to him. Why not write a few poems? Poems were good for venting, aspecially for pain. Many years ago he had done this whenever his dad got on his nerves. House started to write a hiaku:

*

I need Vicodin

Wilson doesn't understand

The pain I deal with

*

Well, look at that. He put that it in a mostly empty drawer in his deck, ripped another scrap of paper and started another one. House was a little distracted by this, and he was liking this venting idea.

------~*~-------

A week later House kept on doing this. After he got his Vicodin and then ran out, he would start writing again on random scraps of paper, put them in his pocket and then put them into his desk later.

In the morning when he woke up for work his leg hurt so badly that he couldn't get up for almost an hour, so he wrote a poem:

*

I feel so pathetic sometimes

I'm not even good with rhymes

I can't even get up

I'll have to find something

to make me smirk

When I get to work

Which won't be hard

Wilson's such a card

*

So when the pain faded soemwhat he got dressed, put the poem in his pocket and left out the door.

--------~*~--------

Sitting at his desk and finishing his latest poem House was interupted by Wilson. House jammed the poem into his desk drawer and looked up to see Wilson pacing.

"I know you're busy what with all your pacing-" House begun.

"Cuddy asked to go to dinner with me," Wilson burst out.

"Interesting. Maybe she's really getting desperate," House leaned back from his desk.

"No jokes, House," Wilson warned. "She already asked me once before-"

"-And it was just a harmless dinner, it won't kill you to go again," House interupted, rolling his eyes.

"I guess so," Wilson shrugged it off, not completely letting it go. "Want to go for lunch?"

"Sure," House got up and grabbed his cane, wincing when he put pressure on his bad leg. "I'm buying."

"Serious?"

"Nope," House's pager beeped then. He read the message PATIENT SEIZURING and rolled his eyes.

"What?"

"Foreman's an idiot. I'll be back," House then limped down the hallway towards the patient's room. Wilson watched him go then went back into House's office. He sat down in his desk and looked around a little. He saw a peculiar scrap of paper sticking out from a drawer and pulled it out. It seemed to be a hiaku.

*

To spend all your days

Living in such horrid pain

Is miserable

*

Wilson was a little taken aback; House had written this. Since when did he write poetry, aspecially so sad? Not wanting House to know he had been snooping, Wilson opening the drawer to put it back in. And then he saw that half of the drawer was filled with them - little scraps of paper that had poems on them. Wilson read

one:

*

The pain's so bad

And I know it's quite sad

It's worse than being with dad

*

And another:

*

The least of my worries is that I can't dance

I think I should have cut that leg off when I had the chance

All I can do is just hold my stance

*

And another:

*

My only friend is Wilson

Who can be fun

But doesn't know

The worst of it all

Doesn't get my silent call

Won't catch me when I fall

In between us there's a wall

It's not his fault;

He doesn't know

*

Wilson read one after the other, feeling stupid he had never noticed how much House was suffering.

~*~

House hadn't seen Wilson the rest of the day, he had been too busy with the case. When he got home later he plopped on his couch and rubbed his temples, trying to ease the pain away. It had been a long day, but House was satisfied all the same because he solved the case, getting it finally over with.

He then heard a knock on the door, but didn't feel like getting up. "Coming," he called tiredly, getting to the door, limping painfully. He opened the door and there stood Wilson. Before House could suggest he come in because he looked like an idiot just standing there, Wilson embraced him in a big hug. House just stood there, dumbstruck by Wilson's actions.

"House I've been so stupid and I never noticed the pain you were really going through and I thought you were exaggerating and I even saw sometimes clues that you were really suffering and then I read your poems and I realize that I've been so stupid and they were so true and I'm so sorry!" He had said this in a rush, and was hugging House tighter. Wilson then let go of House, and House could see he was crying.

"Wilson..." House's words were caught in his throat which was starting to feel thick. "I'm glad you understand now." He could feel moisture in his eyes. Wilson smiled.

"Me, too. I promise I won't be so blind again," Wilson rubbed away his tears.

"So, let's finish with this softy stuff and do something involved with monster trucks and Chinese takeout," House suggested, already headed to the phone.

"Agreed," Wilson said, coming in behind House.

------------~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*****~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~-------------

(A.N.) When I was typing the end of this I had a huge smile on my face and was tearing up a little. I am such a softy.

You notice that in episodes they'll have a scene with House and Wilson but it's cut short when a person or a pager interupts about the patient and House leaves and Wilson's left standing there? Well, I felt like I was telling a little of Wilson's side of the story. While House was doing some awesome investigating for the patient Wilson was doing something else. Probably not every time waiting for House to come back, though :)

My goal was to write this and finish it in the summer, and I succeeded! Yes! Thanks to LoViNgXtWiLiGhTxoxo, who was the one who encouraged me to write this one-shot in the first place, so this was especially for her. You rock, Lexi! XD

And everybody else, review!!! :D


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